The Great Myths #37: Icarus Falls (Ovid & Virgil)

But Daedalus was weary; by this time,he’d been exiled in Crete too long; he pinedfor his own land; but he was blocked – the seastood in his way. “Though Minos bars escapeby land or waves,” he said, “I still can takethe sky – there lies my path. Though he owns all,he does not own the air!” At once he startsto work on unknown arts, to alter nature.He lays out feathers – all in order, firstthe shorter, then the longer (you’d have saidthey’d grown along a slope); just like the kindof pipes that country people used to fashion,where from unequal reed to reed the riseis gradual. And these he held togetherwith twine around the center; at the basehe fastened them with wax; and thus arranged – he’d bent them slightly – they could imitatethe wings of true birds.

As he worked at this,his young son, Icarus, inquisitive,stood by and – unaware that what he didinvolved a thing that would imperil him – delighted, grabbed the feathers that the windtossed, fluttering, about; or he would plythe blond wax with his thumb; and as he played,the boy disturbed his father’s wonder-work.

When Daedalus had given the last touch,the craftsman thought he’d try two wings himself;so balanced, as he beat the wings, he hungpoised in the air. And then to his dear son,he gave another pair. “O Icarus,”he said, “I warn you: fly a middle course.If you’re too low, sea spray may damp your wings;and if you fly too high, the heat is scorching.Keep to the middle then. And keep your eyeson me and not on Helice, Bootes,or on Orion’s unsheathed sword. Where Ishall lead – that’s where you fly: I’ll be your guide.”And as he taught his son the rules of flight,He fitted to the shoulders of the boythose wings that none had ever seen before.The old man worked and warmed; his cheeks grew dampwith tears; and with a father’s fears, his handsbegan to tremble. Then he kissed his son(he never would embrace the boy again);and poised upon his wings, he flew ahead,still anxious for the follower he led(much like the bird who, from her nest on highleads out her tender fledglings to the sky).He urges on his son, saying he mustkeep up, not fall behind; so he instructsthe boy in flight, an art most dangerous;and while the father beats his wings, he turnsto watch his son, to see what he has done.

A fisherman, who with his pliant rodwas angling there below, caught sight of them;and then a shepherd leaning on his staffand, too, a peasant leaning on his plowsaw them and were dismayed: they thought that thesemust surely be some gods, sky-voyaging.

Now on their left they had already passedthe isle of Samos – Juno’s favorite – Delos and Paros, and Calymne, richin honey, and Labinthos, on the right.The boy had now begun to take delightin his audacity; he left his guideand, fascinated by the open sky,flew higher; and the scorching sun was close;the fragrant wax that bound his wings grew soft,then melted. As he beats upon the air,his arms can get no grip; they’re wingless – bare.

The father – though the word is hollow now – cried: “Icarus! Where are you?” And that cryechoed again, again till he caught sightof feathers on the surface of the sea.And Daedalus cursed his own artistry,then built a tomb to house his dear son’s body.There, where the boy was buried, now his nameremains: that island is Icaria.

– Ovid, Metamorphoses,Book 8, translated by Allen Mandelbaum

When Daedalus – for so the tale is told – fled Minos’ kingdom on swift wings and daredto trust his body to the sky, be floated along strange ways, up toward the frozen North,until he gently came to rest upon the mountaintop of Chalcis. Here he was returned to earth, and here he dedicated his oar-like wings to you, Apollo; here he built a splendid temple in your honor.Upon the gates he carved Androgeos’ death, and then the men of Athens, made to pay each year with seven bodies of their sons; before them stands the urn, the lots are drawn. And facing this, he set another scene: the land of Crete, rising out of the sea; the inhuman longing of Pasiphaë, the lust that made her mate the bull by craft; her mongrel son, the two-formed Minotaur, a monument to her polluted passion. And here the inextricable labyrinth, the house of toil was carved, but Daedalus took pity on the princess Ariadne’s deep love, and he himself helped disentangle the wiles and mazes of the palace, with a thread he guided Theseus’ blinded footsteps. And Icarus, you also would have played great part in such work, had his grief allowed; twice he had tried to carve your trials in gold, and twice a father’s hand had failed.